An Antipodean Tale of Love
by ChibiAnimeFreak
Summary: Antonio and Lovino have been friends for as long as either of them can remember, but when one day "friends" is pushed just a bit farther, how will they deal with it? And how far will they go? Spamano. M for a reason. TWO SHOT
1. Part 1

**Hello again, all~! After only a two-day absence I am back with another story, this one a two-shot. It's quite a bit different than my other one, **_**Just a Day**_**, and is an AU. It's more . . . thought and feeling inspired? And quite a bit more explicit. Hm . . . I don't know . . . **

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine, nor are any of these characters. **

**WARNING: Explicit yaoi, gay, boyxboy, homosexuality, don't like, don't read. **

It always started the same.

"_Nonno_, Antonio's staying over tonight," I would say as we walked through the front door and into the kitchen, finally home after a long day of school.

The middle-aged man wouldn't glance up from whatever he was working on, but instead would simply nod. "That's fine. Good afternoon, Antonio. How are your parents?"

Antonio, usual grin in place, would come up behind me, leaning on the archway. "Good afternoon, Romulus. My family and I are great, thanks."

My grandfather would grunt in response, turning a page.

Then, Feliciano would finally realize we were home, and come rushing in. "Does that mean I need to make extra for Big Brother Toni tonight?" he would ask.

"Yes, please, Feli," Antonio would reply, patting his stomach, though he wasn't at all fat, "you know I love your cooking."

My brother would giggle before skipping back to whatever he had previously been doing.

It was grilled into us, a routine that rarely changed from week to week.

There was another routine in these get-togethers, one that only Antonio and I knew about. _It_ was a secret. _It_ was special. _It_ wasn't spoken of. _It_ was ours.

_It_ started two years ago, when we were both freshmen in high school, that odd transitional age between adult and kid so often labeled as "teen" or "young adult". Friends since before we could remember, we never thought twice about staying over the other's house, but one experience two weeks into our high school career, that all changed for good.

I was over his house when _It_ was first discovered, first experimented with. We were both in his dark in his room, on his double bed, lying, whispering to one another in the dim light the moon offered us. His parents weren't home.

I don't know what made me do it. Over the years I've thought about it, and my mind has certainly managed to think of a million reasons why, but I've never found one which has truly captured the essence of my thought process at the time. Maybe I was emboldened by the darkness, fueled by inner repressed feelings, experimental, hormonal, who knows? Maybe I'll never discover the answer, or, maybe one day it'll come to me, I have no idea, but what I do know for certain is it _did_ happen; it can never be reversed.

And I'm not too sure I'd want it to be.

It started as a simple kiss; in reality it was nothing more than a hesitant brushing of the lips, not even fit to be called a thing such as a kiss, but, despite its softness and overall innocence, it was new to us, an amazing feeling, recently discovered and fresh.

Our first kiss wasn't all that great; it didn't do much for me, for us, but, although it lacked the truly electrifying feelings—which would, I assure you, come later—it was a start, a spark, if you will, kindling a flame, one that would take a while to grow, but would eventually become a leaping bonfire, reaching and consuming, wanting more, more, more.

But that comes later.

As I said, it didn't start as much, didn't begin with the "fireworks" a romanticist would associate with a first kiss, or something similar, but as that one kiss turned to two, then four, seven, things heated up, and we ended up latched onto each other like there was no tomorrow.

At the moment, there wasn't.

It didn't go any farther than kissing that night, but as one night became weeks, weeks became months, it escalated. Every time it happened we got a bit farther, a bit more adventurous, a bit more comfortable with each other.

Not a word was exchanged about _It_, or has been since, but I know _It_ won't stop, not until we _do_ talk about it, for once it is spoken of, it will have actually happened, and once it has happened, emotions get in the way, feelings and inhibitions and self-consciousness, all of which prohibit what we truly wanted: each other.

Some might call the relationship we shared unhealthy, repressive, a ticking time bomb, but to us it was held much like world powers hold oil: precious and needed, desired even, and oh so bound to disappear as time passes, yet we are greedy and unwilling to stop depleting it.

One may think it would be awkward after something akin to that, or that our friendship would be ruined, but it wasn't. Somehow, we always remained the same: he was overly cheerful and annoying, I was irritable and rude, and we still had the odd friendship we'd had since our toddler years.

At least, until one night near the start of our sophomore year.

It was a monumental night, a stepping-stone. We'd had a few of those before, ones which I had kept track of, if only in my mind—first kiss, first climax, first oral sex—but never one as big as this.

It was our first time going all the way.

We had been away from each other all summer—me in Italy visiting family and him stuck here—and we were deprived and eager to get back to one another.

As everything else when it came to us, it began with a routine—kisses getting heated and becoming more adventurous in their placement, nipples tweaked, sweaty bodies crushed together, grinding—but ended so much differently.

When my sleep pants were finally discarded of, a light rain pattering on the opposite side of the window pane, rather than grab my arousal with his hand or mouth, I felt Antonio press something a bit lower, slimy and wet with what I assumed to be his saliva, circling an area never touched by him before. It was new, weird, but so, so amazing. Slowly, what I figured was his finger inched into the hole, pushing past the ring of muscle until it was completely sheathed before pulling out just as slowly.

I squirmed slightly at the feeling of something wiggling its way into a place where nothing had ever been pushed in before. The alien feeling gradually turned to one of amazing gratification, however, burning a path deep into me. Then, just as I was getting used to it, the pressure suddenly increased.

I moaned low in my throat—quietly, of course; we had long since mastered the art of keeping as silent as possible—as it was added, pain mingling with the previous pleasure. I was quickly sated, though, as Antonio leaned forward and kissed me, successfully distracting me and picking up his pace as he did so. Soon, I felt nothing but unimaginable pleasure as the appendages sped in and out, stretching and scissoring, readying me for what I believed to be coming.

Just as I expected, the fingers were removed, leaving me panting and aching, only to be replaced with something denser, larger. Antonio pushed at my entrance, hesitating as if unsure of what he was doing.

I let out a small noise—half whine, half exasperated sigh—and reached my hands behind his neck, pulling him back down onto me. I crashed our lips together—after a bit of an effort taken to find him—and kissed the Spaniard passionately and with every ounce of my being, immediately opening my mouth and allowing our tongues to battle for the what seemed like the millionth time that night.

I must have calmed him somehow, for, as the kiss died down until it was less hungry, more calm and loving, he began to press forward. I let out a small gasp, breaking our kiss and choosing to, instead, throw my head back against the pillows—mine this time—in what started as pleasure but suddenly shifted to pain as my body caught up with how big Antonio truly was.

As I squinted past the sting I felt one of Antonio's hands stroke my cheek comfortingly. The loving gesture soothed me, and I took comfort in it, so much so that slowly, gradually, I began to relax.

Eventually, I must have loosened enough for Antonio to move, for he slowly pulled out, then pushed back in with just as much care, leaning down to bite at my neck, licking and sucking over my collar bone, up my jugular, over my pulse point, to the base of my ear and across my jaw, tracing a path of fire that ended at my swollen lips. I knew there'd be a number of deep purple and red marks from tonight visible in the morning, and I also knew that, in order to keep what we did a secret—both from outsiders and ourselves—I would hide them desperately.

It wasn't long before our kiss became more heated, mimicking the rains steadily growing force, and filled with passion and hunger, and with it his thrusts deeper and stronger, filling and emptying me in such a dizzying way I was sure I'd be lost in the feelings forever, never able to escape the unbreakable maze.

My stomach burned with an overbearing heat, my aching cock begging to be touched, and our teeth and noses mashed together more and more as we got closer and closer to the finale of our act, but for all its faults and star-crossed tendencies, it was something I never wanted to end, something I wanted to repeat again and again until my body burned away from the heat of it.

Now, I'm not going to say our first time was the best, nor did it last for very long once it was started, but it was a memory, a landmark, and there was one thing of which I knew with complete surety: I would never—despite the dark and silence—forget with whom I did it.

As we reached our climaxes, I couldn't help but realize how much I loved this, and how much I loved with _whom_ I was doing this. I decided, in that moment, there was no one I could think of I'd rather lose my virginity to; there was not a movie star, cheerleader at our school, or other notable icon I believed to be a better candidate for this moment.

And that scared me.

It's also most likely why everything changed that night, and the day after.

The coil of heat in my gut tightened in a familiar way, signaling I was at the brink of my release. Antonio was close, too. I could tell easily by the way his breath brushed my face raggedly, heated air rushing onto my cheeks, his thrusts getting more desperate. It was when he reached down between us, releasing my lips to do so, and gripped by erection, now dripping with precum, that I was finally pushed over the edge into the abyss of never ending pleasure.

I arched as my climax hit, waves of endorphins rushing through my brain, and fire doing the same through my veins. I clenched hard around Antonio as he continued to pump into me the same way a runner makes a last pitch effort and sprints for the finish line, and, though I couldn't see it in the murky blackness, I felt my sticky cum coat our stomachs.

Antonio followed me over the edge only a few moments later, jumping off the bridge despite the common wisdom of not following friends when they did exactly that. Though I guess we couldn't really be called "friends" anymore, could we?

There were many things which occurred to make "just friends" impossible from then on. They were all small, and yet so noticeable within the delicate situation they couldn't be overlooked.

It was right as Antonio climaxed that the first of many happened. In the dim light I could see his eyes screw up as he rode out his orgasm, silent except for one word: "Lovino." It escaped his lips in a breathy gasp, in the midst of his orgasm, and he most likely wasn't even aware of it.

My eyes widened, snapping open from their previously closed, tranquil state. Breathing, which had previously begun to regulate itself, sped up again, heartbeat mimicking it.

Even to this day I don't know if Antonio meant for me to hear the small cry, or even to say them in the first place. The single word meant nothing—it was only a name—yet carried all the weight a thousand word paper would.

Afterwards, Antonio collapsed against me in exhaustion, breath ragged against my neck. He remained sheathed within me as he softened, though I can't say I quite minded the rather comforting feeling of being filled.

He murmured little nothings, not even truly audible, into my pulse point, making me shiver from the light contact on the already delicate, slightly bruised area.

Finally, Antonio finagled himself into an awkward crouching position, placing his arms on either side of me to support himself. As he pulled out, I winced slightly from the odd feeling. I realized he hadn't known I'd heard him. Inwardly, I sighed in relief. Because of that, all I had to do was pretend everything was the same and he wouldn't know.

Of course, that was easier said than done, as I would come to see the next day.

The second wake-up call—literally—we received was that morning, just as we were rousing ourselves from sleep.

Now, usually, whenever we had one of our . . . _episodes_ we would make sure that, by some means, both of us were fully clothed and cleaned of any possible tell-tale _stuff_ that could possibly hint at something having happened the night before. Through some stroke of bad luck, however, that night neither of us awoke or cleaned off before going to sleep; we were both so exhausted we just collapsed.

And so, it wasn't completely surprising that when the two of us woke up, it was fairly clear what had happened the night prior. We knew it immediately, too, due to the fact that, not only were we naked, but we were _snuggling_.

I'm not going to lie to myself and say I wasn't comfortable or even slightly happy to wake up in Antonio's arms—there isn't much a doubt that after having sex for the first time you kind of wish to awaken in the arms of you love, no matter how twisted the situation—and wasn't all too keen on moving away. Of course, as soon as Antonio's eyes opened as well and realized what was going on, I was beyond mortified, but for a second—a single, blissful second—I was content.

But, despite how great a feeling it was, it also instigated a horrible chain of events as reality crashed down on us. One by one the dominos fell until there was nothing left to hide behind except ruins of the fallen walls.

Bit by bit our defenses crumbled, our eyes opened, our hearts were bared on our sleeves, little by little causing the inevitable downfall of our far from perfect, but oh so wonderful system.

That day itself was awkward, the little things causing the biggest reactions. One of the most obvious of those was just one small fact, a fact so revealing and obvious it was just too much: I couldn't walk right. It was painful—just moving in general was, really—and I walked with an odd little limping shuffle, just abnormal enough to catch the eye of Antonio. It didn't hurt so much it became intolerable, but just enough it couldn't be ignored either by me or an onlooker.

And so the spiral downwards began. We were falling inch by inch, sinking deep into the quicksand, at the bottom of which was our fate; no matter how much we struggled we only dropped deeper, approaching the outcome of our escapades.

Whether for better or worse both of us knew, somewhere in the deepest recesses of our minds, it would end soon, and it would end with a bang.

**So how was it? Good? Bad? Weird? **

**Well, part two will be up sometime next week, though probably not my full week-long wait, depending on when I get it edited. I already have the majority written so . . . **

**But anyway, leave your thoughts and criticism please~!**

**Chibianimefreak out~**


	2. Part 2

**HOLYCRAPIT'!**

**But anyways, I don't like this one as much as the first part. Oh well. I might repost this chapter edited—I'm too lazy to go back and look through it again—but for now, here you go~! I wasn't sure how or where to end it… **

**Enjoy~**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Weeks pass, awkward moments abounding and circumstances getting nothing but worse as time goes on. On more than one instance one of us, either Antonio or I, went to do something considered normal, but ended causing it to end awkwardly. Throwing a casual arm over the other's shoulders, faces ending up close, bumping into one another, taunts from our friends, all of these added up until, little by little, it became nearly impossible for one of us to speak to the other without it ending in some kind of odd glance, a knowing look exchanged, guilty eyes looking at the other, stiff, guarded stances attempting without success to hide the person making such a stance from his partner.

All of these changes led up to right now, this moment of definition.

"Lovino," Antonio calls to me across the class as the final bell of the day rings. "We need to talk."

I can tell simply by looking at him exactly what the subject of our talk will be.

Though my stomach churns, I nod, moving from the door to let the other students and the teacher escape from the confining classroom to greet their friends and go home for the day, finally free from school's tight grasp.

As the last of the cheerful teens leaves the room, I walk over to Antonio and join him next to the large windows. He is gazing out them, taking in the view of the school's wilted courtyard with an odd look, an almost sad one.

I wait anxiously, swallowing a lump in my throat, for him to speak.

A minute passes, then two, and I realize Antonio may not address me any time soon. I'm not sure if he is thinking of what to say, or whether he is simply avoiding the subject, but I can't wait any longer for him to procrastinate what we both know is coming.

"Antonio," I break the silence. I must have startled him out of his thoughts, for he jumps, looking to me in surprise as if he didn't expect to see me here with him.

He composes himself after a slight hesitation, and stares at me evenly. "Lovino."

We stare at each other, neither of us exactly sure of how to begin walking across the thin ice. Our gaze isn't awkward for the first time in weeks, and a silent knowing, an acknowledgement, seems to pass between us.

Suddenly, I'm mad; I'm mad at him for not mentioning it first, mad at myself for letting us go on like this, and mad at the world for making us both so bad at expressing ourselves in the open. I hate how we are both such cowards, hiding behind the darkness and silence of the night instead of facing our feelings like we should have. The anger fills me, and I know I can't take our cowardice much longer.

"We had sex."

The words came from my mouth, though I don't remember saying them. My eyes widen, and Antonio's green ones match my own in their girth.

It's our first admittance of anything, and it strikes me like a slap to the face, or a splash of water to a sleeping man. Any number of analogies could describe the feeling, but I'm not focused on that at the moment. The only thing in my mind—echoing, relentless—is the repetition of the recently voiced phrase.

I break our gaze, glancing to the floor at my left, examining the ugly carpet with disgust. I'm not sure whether it is for the tasteless carpet or our cowardly actions, but no matter the cause, I feel revolted and revolting at the same time.

I glare at the floor. It's stupid, with its diamond pattern tiles of alternating colorings, none of them matching or complimenting one another. Neither of us matches either; we're such opposites.

With a sudden sort of decisiveness, my eyes drag themselves back to Antonio only to find him staring at me with the same surprised, slightly afraid, look.

"We did," I continue, my voice shaking. "We did it, and I can't change that—_we_ can't." I swallow the renewed lump in my throat, but keep my gaze steadfast. I'm sure my eyes reveal all my feelings—windows to the soul, they're called—but I don't care; for once I'm wearing my proverbial heart on my sleeve, bearing it for the world to see and do with as it pleases, so the rawness of my gaze doesn't deter me, but fuels me on.

His are the same, the deep emeralds reflecting back to me what I am feeling, what I am experiencing within myself, and that helps, too; it reassures me that, even as he doesn't respond and continues only to gape at me, I am doing the right thing for both of us.

"A-and I . . . I don't think I want to."

I am hoping, desperate, yearning, for him to agree, waiting for those words of compliance, of agreement and consent. I feel as if I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, inches from falling over, waiting for nothing but a light breeze to push me the last little bit forward so I plummet downwards.

Finally, he moves, reaching a single tanned hand out to grasp my own, and takes it in his strong grip, pulling me back from the edge of the abyss. It's when he smiles, though, that I finally let myself feel relief, for I know that hidden in that smile—not a grin, no, not his usual foolish, air headedness—is the answer to my silent question.

"Me neither."

Elation fills my stomach, and, like an animal when its cage door has been opened after years of captivity, I feel free. Before I know what I'm doing, my face is buried in Antonio's chest, my arms thrown around him in a tight, crushing hug, my hand wrenching itself out of his grip in the process. As his mind picks up the situation, he embraces me back, chin resting at the top of my head, his breath tickling my skull. I feel him shudder, as if he is finally getting that which he has been deprived.

In reality, he is.

Something inside of me clicks, the last piece of the puzzle fitting into place. I didn't realize before just how hollow our escapades made me feel, how separate I held my "real" life and my "night" one. It is hard for me to accept the fact that now they are one and the same, and I know it will take time for it to fully compute that they aren't different realities any more, but rather one life I will live from now on. There won't be any more secrets or silence for the two of us.

I shudder with what I realize is a sob, and it is only at that moment I notice the tears leaking out of my eyes and down my cheeks, some of the salty drops soaking into Antonio's school blazer.

It's not out of sadness that I cry, and I think Antonio knows that, too, for he doesn't move from our comfortable position in each other's arms, but simply stands, holding me.

After only a few moments, though it feels like hours, my sobs die down, and my tears run dry. Antonio pulls back, hands gripping my upper arms as he holds me at arm's distance. His head dips down to gaze into my eyes, peering under the bangs shadowing my face to catch a glimpse of me.

I raise my puffy, tear-filled eyes to meet his, and lean forward slightly, expectantly.

Antonio senses my goal, and leans forward himself, closing the small distance between us. Our lips touch, and this time I feel the sparks, the fireworks. _This_, I decide, _is our _real _first kiss_.

It stays chaste, innocent, but, despite its gentleness, there is such a deep feeling of overflowing love and understanding in the gesture it becomes the equivalent of all our past exchanges, the ones from beneath the blanket of darkness when we were too afraid to truly express ourselves to one another.

As we break the kiss and merely hold each other, I wonder if I loved Antonio before all this happened, or if somewhere in the middle of it all the feelings appeared. It is something I may never know, but I decide I don't care, really.

Finally, the time comes for us to break apart. The last of the students have long since filed onto their buses or joined their various after school activities, leaving Antonio and I in silence.

I let a secretive smile grace my features. "So," I begin, "wanna come over my house? Feliciano's got art club, and _Nonno_ is working late today."

Antonio smiles in return, the intentions buried within it parallel to mine. "Of course~!"

I don't know _exactly_ why I'm so eager to make love with Antonio again, but I think I have a small inkling. For some reason, I feel as though I must erase the past experience with a new one, a _real_ one. Although that memory resides within me—I don't believe I _could_ forget it—it is but a shadow, full of darkness and hidden things, scary things. Somehow, I believe that doing this is the only way I can completely rectify the past.

When we arrive at my house, I lead him up to my room, dragging him, hand in hand. I open the door and emerge into the room I call my own, pulling him in after me. We stand there in the doorway, silently holding hands and examining the chamber, both of us locked, pensive, in our own thoughts.

It's light out, the sun bright and illuminating the world with its brilliance. For once, we will be aware of each other, and, despite our previous time together, I feel like a virgin again. Butterflies flit about my stomach, and I blush as the idea of what we're about to do enters my mind.

I take a deep breath and walk towards the bed on the far side of the room, pulling Antonio after me—not that he's at all unwilling.

I'm not sure how it got from one thing to the other, but it takes only a moment before we're latched onto one another, falling onto the bed, limbs entangled. His tongue invades my mouth as he rolls on top of me, effectively pinning me against the mattress.

I respond just as eagerly, flushing deeply as one of his hands runs down my side and back up steadily, sending a needy shiver up my spine. The same hand adventures further north, pushing my shirt up as it goes, and brushes a nipple. I gasp into the kiss, my own hands adventurous in their movements.

My eyes are open the entire time.

I don't want to lose sight of him, not now that I have him. I think somewhere in the depths of my mind there is a part of me which still does not completely understand this situation, which still believes that the moment my eyes drift closed it will all become nothing more than a phantasmal event, a delusion, a dream.

Antonio breaks free of the kiss, and I pant, the lack of air entering my lungs suddenly noticed. He straddles me, and sits up, unbuttoning his shirt with shaking hands and revealing his toned chest bit by bit. It isn't anything I haven't seen or felt before, but despite this it feels different this time around, the entire experience does, really. No longer do the restrictions of blindness apply, nor its advantages.

I run a hand hesitantly over the expanse of Antonio's chest, gentle and teasing in my movements, and he leans back down over me, shuddering as my nimble fingers pass over his abs and up to his pectorals, then back down again, taking a new path so I may explore and learn in a whole new way.

Antonio kisses down my jaw hungrily, biting and sucking as he works his way past my jugular and to my collar bone, then ever lower, pausing only to undo my pristine white button-down. As the olive skin is freed of the comparably pale shirt, he kisses every bit of it wetly, driven by my gasps and pants.

Finally, my shoulders are freed of the constricting formal wear, and before I can reestablish my movements on his body, he envelops a nipple in his mouth, nipping the sensitive area. I nearly cry out, biting my lip to hold back the sound, and arch slightly Antonio's body. My movement brushes our hardening arousals against one another, and he moans over my nipple, the vibrations only sending more blood south, creating a sort of vicious cycle. Antonio's tongue runs over it, and I push down the moan that tries to break free of my throat.

"You can be as loud as you want now, you know."

I look down my body when the words finally compute, my hazy eyes meeting Antonio's, his chin resting on my chest.

"There's no one here, and nothing to hide." He leans down to bite the swollen nipple, and I barely conceal the cry of mixed pain and pleasure. "And besides," he says, an entirely new, much huskier, tone to his voice, "I want to hear you."

_For the first time_.

The words aren't said, but I can hear them and understand how he yearns to know it's truly me. I can't help but share his sentiment, and when his teeth take the abused bud again, I don't even bother attempting to hide the cry that escapes.

Sated, he moves across my chest, placing feather light kisses as he moves across, and gives the same treatment to the other side.

I moan and writhe, but, so as not to prevent Antonio from the same pleasure as I, my own hands are not laying useless at my sides. One of them lays tangled in Antonio's deep brown hair, trying to resist the urge to hold him where he is, while the other explores all his bare skin, running up and down his sides and all over the expanse of his back, before reaching between us to undo the button on his school dress pants.

As the button finally comes lose—after much finagling—I realize Antonio has released me and is working on pulling my own pants down my legs, revealing my boxers and releasing some of the pressure on my now achingly hard cock. It strains against the confines of the thin cloth of my undergarments and aches with want.

I watch as his eyes take in my nearly bare body, traversing up and down it, the green orbs scorching a path of emerald fire wherever they look. Though I understand his determination to know me by sight and not just touch, I feel self-conscious under his gaze, and hunch slightly, crossing my arms over my chest as if somehow it will protect me from whatever is coming.

Somehow it doesn't matter that we are, in theory, beyond comfortable with each other's bodies, the fact that now it's real, it's for a reason, makes it a whole new experience for the two of us. It really isn't surprising I'm treating it as a baby bird treats its first time attempting to fly: with caution, tentatively, but knowing the elation will come once it leaps out of the nest.

"Lovino," Antonio says suddenly, husky tone surprising me as much as the sudden vocalization in general. He grabs my arms, pulling them apart to reveal me to him completely, but keeping the hands clasped in his own before leaning to kiss me deeply. Unlike the earlier ones, this one is gentle, less hungry and needy, more full of love and feelings suppressed far too long.

When he pulls back, he presses his forehead against mine, our noses barely touching, breath slightly faster than normal, but still calm, and our bodies fitting together perfectly, him lying between my parted legs. "I love you," he murmurs against my lips, the breath tickling my face.

The flush that had started to fade comes back full force, more brilliant than before. I never imagined hearing those words from him. Or, maybe _believed_ is a better word there. I'm not going to deny I have not before had fantasies of us finally doing it like this, _really_ together, but I never before _believed_ it to be a possibility.

Now, though, it's happening. It's an amazing thing, something I want to live over and over, yet I still can't quite believe it's really taking place at the moment. Did Antonio really just say he loves me? It's astounding, the thought of it. How can someone like Antonio love me? We've been friends for as long as I can remember, and I've been mean and cold to him for just as long. How could our relationship have gotten so warped?

Antonio closes the small gap between our lips, pressing his against mine in the simplest of kisses, and effectively silences my thoughts. This time, his tongue slips into my mouth, and I allow it to enter willingly. Melting into the feeling, our previously halted actions start forward again. My hips brush his accidentally, and it isn't long before we're grinding against each other completely, his jeans and my boxers providing way too much restriction for my tastes.

Antonio seems to agree, for at that moment he pulls back from me, parting or swollen lips and climbing off of me to pull of his pants and undergarments. As he struggles with the inflexible material of the pants, I watch his flushed face with wonder, splayed on the bed, arms over my head languidly.

_I did that_, I think in wonder. It's my fault his cheeks are rosy, his eyes glassy, his lips bruised. I caused it through my actions, and, I find, I'm proud of it. When I look at the affects of our prior actions, I can't help but _relish_ in them. I remember them, and for the first time in a while, the memories of us together don't make me feel uncomfortable or guilty.

"I love you, too."

The words are sudden and a bit too late, but hold the same impact they would have had they been uttered moments earlier.

Antonio pauses in his wrestling with the restricting pants and looks back at me, his shocked features quickly changing to elated ones. I feel like he's going to say something, but before he can I sit up and shuffle over to him awkwardly. When I finally reach him, I press our lips together again chastely, but with promise for more, and reach down, easing his hands from their grip in his tangled pants. I pull them down and off his legs, keeping my eyes locked to his, their green light shining only on me, entranced.

Without breaking our gaze, I grab his newly freed cock, massaging it in my hand seductively. He moans low in his throat, feral, as my movements become firmer and pick up my speed slightly, but not moving fast enough that it would end him any time soon.

Not relinquishing my grasp on Antonio's hard arousal, I shimmy out of my boxer shorts, gasping as my own matching wood is freed. Making sure his eyes are still locked on mine, I grab his hand and draw it up to my mouth, taking in two of his fingers. I suck on them languidly, my tongue running over them and around, though I never cease in my hand's movements.

Eventually, the appendages feel coated enough in my saliva, and I direct his hand downwards again as I shift into an awkward kneeling position, my back arching slightly. He seems to realize what I'm doing, for he moves his hand of its own accord, green eyes still staring at me in slightly wonder.

I'm surprised at myself, too, for feeling brave enough to do this, and I am shocked to find I really don't mind it. Being the one to make Antonio gape with wonder and moan in ecstasy is a wonderful thing, and does nothing but turn me on even more.

When his fingers invade my entrance, one at first, but the second following right after, I moan, the fingers rubbing against my walls perfectly, and I unknowingly grip Antonio a bit tighter. His moans mingle with mine, and we create the perfect harmony as each of use moves, making the other melt with the extent of their arousal.

Antonio's fingers stretch me as I stroke him, and when the tips of them brush something deep inside of me, I decide I can't wait another moment.

With a frustrated sound, I pull Antonio's fingers out from within me, surprising him, and stop my own ministrations. Antonio whines a bit, sending me an almost pouty look, but I quickly wipe it off when I move forward and straddle him, pressing our chests together and brushing the head of his cock against my stretched hole.

I kiss him heavily as I plunge down, sheathing myself completely on him. I feel the pain again, though it is not as apparent as two weeks prior, and I whimper softly, dropping my head to rest on his chest, eyes screwed shut tight against the sharp twinges down below.

I feel soft lips against my forehead, pressing lightly and moving ever so slightly to form words that must be comforting, but which escape my hearing. The hand of his not resting on my thigh pets my head, running his fingers through the auburn locks. It comforts me, and when his finger brushes that certain hair in front, I gasp, the already fading pain disappearing all together.

I move my hips experimentally, just shifting ever so slightly upwards then back down, and when it brings nothing but pleasure—to Antonio, too, if his moan is anything to go by—I continue, faster.

Learning fast as he only seems to do when it comes to sex, Antonio follows me, moving with me, snapping his hips up to meet my less controllable downwards thrusts.

I feel a new fire kindling in my stomach, one akin, a brother, to the one from a fortnight ago. Only, while the one of the past was an untamable bonfire, this one, the one occurring in this moment, is more like a flame within the fireplace of a family home; it burns bright, its flames licking higher and its heat enough to burn, but controlled by the walls of its brick cage. So, too, is this fire in my groin confined by something, though I would not venture to call it a cage. It is held back, rather, by love, a gentle force, not pushing or coercing the flames, but gently asking them if they would please calm themselves enough to make this an enjoyable experience, one not obtainable by any other means.

They oblige.

Moments pass, the silence of mid-afternoon only broken by our collective moans and gasps, the act deserving of the otherwise seemingly exaggerated reactions.

Antonio, hand still tangled in my hair, finds my curl again and begins to toy with it, the action only serving to fuel me on even more.

"A-Anto . . . tonio—_ngh_—A-ah . . . 'ntonio . . ." The sounds seem pornographic even to my ears, and Antonio's are no better, gasps of my name escaping between his panting breath.

As with most things, a finale must be reached in order for other things to take place and continue on, and sex is no exception. I could feel my own end nearing, the finish line finally coming in sight, the peak of the mountain seeming finally obtainable. My legs ache from holding myself up for so long, and shake so hard it's becoming difficult to move at all, let alone enough for me to reach that end I so desired.

Or, maybe I don't desire an end, but rather the end of the beginning, the start of a new chapter for us. But, in reality, at this moment I want nothing more than to climax with Antonio—though maybe not at the same exact time—and to experience even more pleasure. Really, what else goes through one's mind while within the deepest throes of sexual desire?

Whatever my short and long term goals of the moment, Antonio seems to sense my encroaching exhaustion, and moves us so I am sandwiched against the wall on the far side of my bed, him thrusting into me with even more force than earlier.

I throw my head back, only to hit it on the wall behind me and cause Antonio to accidentally yank my curl even harder. It is then I know I can't go much farther: with my cock rubbing each of our stomachs between us, his hand continually yanking and massaging my curl, the other one occupied with the rest of my body, and most of all his thrusts, the likes of which I couldn't feel individually anymore, and rather becoming a mass of burning liquid fire, I am doomed to finish. My moans grow more wanton, and when Antonio changes his angle slightly, the resulting shift sending a shock of white-hot bliss up my spine, spreading through my body via the veins riddling it, I am finally pushed over the edge.

I shudder in my release, crying out his name and spilling my seed over our chests as Antonio continues to thrust into me, not missing and beat, and even speeding up a bit more—though I don't know such a thing possible—allowing me to ride out my orgasm. He pounds into my prostate, each resounding thrust causing a renewed convulsion to wrack through me, my ass contracting with each one. It won't be long until he follows me.

My prediction isn't wrong, for only a moment later he climaxes also, the warm wetness filling me oddly, though not at all unpleasantly.

When the last of it is over, the final waves of satisfaction washing through us, he collapses against me, his head resting on my shoulder. My body presses uncomfortably into the plaster wall, but I can't find it in me to mind as I begin to slip down from my marginally elevated position.

It is Antonio who finally moves us, first pulling himself out of me before falling sideways, dragging me with him, and effectively situating us so we are lying the proper way on the bed, which is to say with our heads on the pillows, our limbs entangled and breath mingled.

Our eyes meet, and there is such a feeling of elation within my heart, as if an oppressive weight has been lifted from me, I can't help but let out a small laugh. It surprises Antonio, who has a matching blissful, albeit exhausted, expression on his face, and I only serve to shock him more as the small laugh turns into all out hysterical laughter, the happiness overrunning everything else for once.

It's so very backwards, this situation. _We're_ the backwards ones, really. Our whole relationship is odd, a reverse kind of situation you don't see too often, one that may even be looked down upon. Most would agree that, when developing feelings for someone and acting upon those feelings, such a couple would begin with the loving and the confessions, with the sappy stuff, the hugs and blissful smiles before transitioning to the sexual aspect.

Defying all logic, however, we came along. We went in reverse, beginning with nothing more than sexual attraction—though maybe it started with more, I truly don't know—and elevating it until we ended up going all the way, all of this eventually causing our love confessions and sappiness. That's why I'm laughing, I think.

There is a word that fits so well, an SAT word we were forced to learn as part of one of our English vocabulary sections: antipodean. It means opposite, or reversed, and while words such as those are used to describe this other, more lavish word work as well, they don't seem to capture the complexity of it all.

Ours is truly an antipodean tale of love.

"Lovi," Antonio says, his voice worried and full of slight hesitation, "are you okay?"

I turn my oddly happy face to his, still so close to mine, and snuggle into his grip a bit more. "More than okay, bastard," I mumble into his chest. The swear word seems out of place, but I know he expects it.

"Am I really still a bastard, Lovi?" he whines, but I can feel the smile pressed onto the top of my head.

I scoff. "Once a bastard, always a bastard," I say. I'm silent for a moment, then continue, "B-but you're _my_ fucking bastard now, got it?"

Antonio laughs then, too, a chuckle deep in his chest, and I can feel the vibrations through my body. "_Por supuesto_. And you're mine, _querido_," he replies, pulling me closer to him.

The Spanish, uttered so sexily, too sexily, sends shivers down my spine, and I inhale in a shuddering breath. From here I can smell him, his natural scent entering my nose without my consent, but lacking a complaint as well. Beneath the whiff of sex still lingering on his body, he smells of nature and summer, of grass and tomatoes and sunshine. It's so familiar in an odd kind of way; I'm almost certain I'd recognize it in an instant.

We fall silent for a few moments, though it isn't an uncomfortable one. Far from it, I feel as though I could stay like this forever, or for the afternoon at least, but, as with most good things, it must be done in moderation.

I finally push myself up and away from Antonio, moaning as joints pop and an ache sets in. "Come on, lazy bastard," I say. I shove at his chest when he tries to reclaim his grip on me. "No, Feliciano will be home in a little bit, and I don't want him to fucking freak out again when I'm not within yelling distance, the little coward."

Antonio lets out an annoyed sound, half grunt, half whine, but rolls out of bed anyways, nearly falling completely off the mattress, but catching himself at the last moment.

I snort as I untangle myself from the duvet—more gracefully than him—and find a pair of boxers and jeans to throw on.

A door slams in the distance, and I hear a muffled high-pitched shout come from the same direction. "Shit, Antonio, take these—" I throw him a pair of pajama pants two sizes too big for me and a T-shirt "—and come down when you're dressed."

I'm about to exit the door, frantically swearing under my breath, when Antonio stops me in my tracks, saying, "I did mean it, Lovi. I love you."

I turn, facing him. He looks up at me from his spot on the ground at the far side of the bed, fleece pants thrown over his head haphazardly, not having moved from where I threw them.

"Y-yeah." I break my eyes from his intense green ones. Somehow it's harder to say when not in the throes of sex, when I'm not sure of what will happen next. He waits expectantly, and I worry my bottom lip anxiously. You'd think that after all that's happened it would willingly come forth, but the three words—such simple words; they are only composed of a simple subject, object, and verb—don't want to push past my seemingly sealed lips.

"_Lovino!_"

The muffled call makes me jump, and I turn from Antonio to yell out the doorway. "_Sono in mia camera, Feliciano_," I shout in Italian, before facing Antonio again, running a hand through my hair and mussing the locks even more.

"I-I . . ." I hear hurried footfalls on the stairs down the hall, my pounding heart matching them in speed and sound. Suddenly, it's all too much, and the hesitance is gone, replaced by the urge to release the feelings building inside me again, much like what happened earlier while we were still within the walls of the school. "I love you, too, damn it!" I exclaim, face flushed and eyes screwed shut tight.

I don't dare open my eyes yet. Despite knowing Antonio feels the same way, it's a terrifying thing to bare your feelings like that, to leave yourself completely open to any and all ridicule. What if he was joking? Part of me knows it's not possible for someone like Antonio, but the more paranoid, self-conscious bit can't help but believe it whole-heartedly.

Shuffling sounds from Antonio's corner of the room, and moments later I feel warm arms enveloping me, a soft voice whispering words I don't understand in my ear gently, the breath caressing my cheek and neck. It's then I realize he's speaking in Spanish again, and I melt into the embrace, inching my shaking arms around his back.

"Ve~."

I tear out of Antonio's grasp and spin around to face the door, eyes wild. Sure enough, there stands Feliciano, smiling knowingly.

"I always knew you two would end up together~," my brother says airily, head cocked to the side. "Ve, you're perfect for each other~."

I growl, and run forward, arms outstretched, reaching for his throat. He yelps and runs from the doorway, and I can hear Antonio's worried, but amused, voice calling for me to stop, but I ignore both and give chase.

As I catch up to Feliciano and begin to cuss him out in all the languages I know while I strangle him—which is really just grabbing around his neck and shaking him harshly back and forth; if I killed him I'd never hear the end of it from _Nonno_—his words echo in my head.

_You're perfect for each other_.

Before today, I wouldn't have agreed. I have the obvious reasons, the ones I would have said out loud, but there are the secret ones, the reasons I would never utter in vocalized words lest they be heard. Our whole relationship is messed up, formed on the basis of sexual encounters, and because we were both too afraid, I figured we'd never end up together, that we'd be doomed to live as we were until whenever our lives drifted in separate directions, but now I can see the sense in those words. The fact that we were _able_ to form an actual loving—_gushy, sickening_—off something as shallow as sex, says how we truly were meant to end up in one another's arms like we were just moments before.

Antipodean though it is, I don't think I would have wanted it to have happened any other way.

**And there ya go~! **

**Odd? Yes. Sappy/weird ending? Yes. Good? Meh. I don't know, it kind of had no climax, pun not intended. Whatever. **

**Oh, but if you would like, I am posting **_**another**_** (God, I'm on a role) Spamano Hetalia story sometime within the next few weeks. Not sure exactly when exactly this will occur as I have yet to write any of it, but it will. It'll be a multi-chaptered high school AU. AND IT WILL HAVE PLOT. This is rare for me. Plot stories usually don't get written when I try to…. Oh well. **

**Chibianimefreak out~**


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